


Playing with fire

by edenforest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mission Fic, Pre-Relationship, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenforest/pseuds/edenforest
Summary: The whole week in Hamburg they had been together, glancing at each other when they were sure the other couldn’t see, playing with fire. There was no harm in looking even if touching would have been unprofessional.Of course all the looking made it that much harder to stay in line. And now she was in his arms and their heads were tilted toward each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DecipherMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecipherMe/gifts).



Wind blew from the northeast and guided the flames and smoke towards the bow of the yacht, making it easier for everybody to board the lifeboats from the stern. There were fifteen of them and four lifeboats. The captain ordered them to secure the boats together in a long row so they wouldn’t drift apart in the dark sea while waiting for the coast guard. Herr Weinmann helped Fräulein Müller in the last boat with crying Count Ehrenreich who was squeezing a expensive bottle of brandy against his chest. He had been drunk for several hours already but still gulped more from the bottle, sobbed when he didn’t drink. Herr Weinmann threw the last blankets in the lifeboat and climbed aboard. He pushed the yacht’s hull to get the lifeboat to drift apart from it, before the whole yacht was in flames.

“Liebe Franzi,” the count sobbed and took a long sip from his brandy bottle. Fräulein Müller handed one of the blankets to him and he carelessly pushed it aside. He cried until he passed out only five minutes later, muttering Franzi’s name, hugging his expensive bottle.

Fräulein Müller moved carefully to the other end of the lifeboat and covered the drunken count with the blanket. She grabbed the brandy bottle and twisted it from the hands that still gripped it tightly. She was surprised that he didn't wake, but then he had barely stayed on his feet even before the fire had started. She returned to her place on the stern of the boat and wrapped her blanket over her shoulders like a cape.

The days were already warm, but as soon as the sun set the temperature dropped and the sea breeze was cold. She was shivering in her sleeveless dress. She glanced at the three other lifeboats in the orange glow of the fire. There were two flashlights but otherwise the fire was only light source they had. When the yacht sank they would be left in the dark to await the rescuers. She shivered again and took a big gulp from the count’s brandy.

She turned her head when Herr Weinmann cleared his throat. He moved his hand from under the blanket and made a slight gesture for her to come closer and then opened his blanket. “Come on,” he muttered. “I would not let my secretary freeze in the sea.”

Gaby moved carefully in the unsteady boat and shifted closer to Illya. She let the blanket drop down from her shoulders and waved it in front of her when she sat down between his thighs. He wrapped his blanket around both of them. Gaby took hold of the edges and he set his palms on her cold arms, rubbed some warmth on them.

“Thank you,” Gaby muttered. It was already warmer when she leaned against his chest, his hands touching her arms.

The burning cabin roof on the yacht collapsed down and somebody shrieked in one of the lifeboats. The fire crackled and popped like a bonfire, but louder, the wind changed and the whole yacht was in flames, burning brightly with violent flames, sparks flowing towards the black sky like fireworks.

Gaby frowned, glanced at the sleeping count. “Should we mention in the reports that we burned down the count’s yacht?” she asked very quietly.

Illya hummed almost against Gaby’s ear when she turned her head closer to him. “If he did not want anybody to burn down his yacht he should not use such flammable materials,” he said quietly.

Gaby held her smile and moved slightly so she could get her hand out and the bottle open. She sipped from the expensive alcohol and offered the bottle to Illya. “At least it stayed somewhat in control until the safe was open,” she continued quietly so that her voice wouldn’t carry to the other lifeboats. “It would have been embarrassing to explain that we lit a small fire for distraction but then burned down the boat before getting the microfilm from the safe.”

“You were quick,” Illya said.

Gaby huffed. “Solo would’ve laughed if he had seen how long it took me.”

“Cowboy broke his leg when he fell down from a hotel window while exiting some woman's bedroom,” Illya sighed and Gaby bit her bottom lip so she wouldn’t chuckle. “He has no right to laugh at anybody right now.”

“Still,” Gaby said. “He would’ve been much faster.”

“He has years of experience,” Illya reminded her. He moved slightly and their bodies pressed firmly together. “You were good. Better than I would have been.”

Gaby huffed some air out of her nose, was pleased but also a little uncomfortable. It was nice to hear something like that from Illya. Not the praise itself, but that he confessed that she was better than him at something. That kind of recognition warmed her almost as much as the arms he had wrapped around her. Gaby turned to look at the other boats and noticed the Baroness von Bothmer staring at them. She turned her head gracefully away when she noticed Gaby looking.

“The baroness doesn’t like when I’m this close,” Gaby noted. “She would like to be here getting warmed up.”

“She should go sit next to her husband if she is cold,” Illya remarked.

Gaby shook her head. The whole week Illya had been noticing everything that had anything to do with the mission, every detail, like he always did. But at the same time he had completely managed to miss how all the women were staring at him wherever they went, in every party and every event.

And it was hard not to notice him when he was taller than everybody else, stood a little straighter. He gathered everybody’s gaze on him even when inside it made him uncomfortable. But his exterior was always calm. He had not been looking like the Illya Gaby had gotten used to. But then he wasn’t Illya, he was Friedrich Weinmann. His hair was slicked back, chin always so smooth, smoother than Gaby had ever seen it. At the parties his shirts and ties were white as snow and the expensive tailcoats against those black like the night sky above them now. His hair appeared almost golden in the warm light of the chandeliers in the ballrooms and candles in the dinner tables, the same colour as the bubbling champagne somebody always offered to him. He had looked handsome and calm the whole time, but Gaby knew he was irritated by the fact that he was there all sleek and groomed, pretending to be somebody who he was struggling to play, in a role that was meant to be played by somebody else.

Gaby’s place in the background was easier. Her job was to observe the crowds wherever they went, but she found herself as weak as the rest of the women in Hamburg society. She noticed how her eyes constantly were pulled back to Illya. She was sure he would smell good enough for her knees to feel weak. And now when she inhaled she realized she had been right.

“She doesn’t like me,” Gaby spoke again, tried to guide herself away from thinking about how nice he smelled and how good his coarse hands felt on her bare arms. “The baroness,” she clarified unnecessarily and Illya looked at her. “ _ Anneliese _ , like she wants you to call her. She glares at me every time she sees me with you. She would like to keep you all to herself.”

Illya frowned. “Herr Weinmann, maybe,” he pointed out.

“You are Herr Weinmann,” Gaby said.

“This is not me,” Illya huffed slightly and shook his head. “This cover is ridiculous. It was made for Cowboy. I am here only playing his part because he can not with a broken leg.” Illya shook his head again.

Gaby hummed. “Well, even when you don’t like this you have still pulled it off”, she reminded. “She is crazy about you. They all are. Meissner’s wife looks like she keeps wondering how much more stamina you have than her husband. Grete Drechsler stares at you in every place we meet her. She keeps imagining you naked, I’m sure.”

“She is not,” Illya claimed.

“She keeps pursing her lips every time she looks at you,” Gaby said. “She is thinking of all the things under your expensive suits.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “She is seventy,” he sighed.

“Still picturing you naked,” Gaby assured him and twisted her neck so she could see him in the orange glow of the fire. Her brows made a little twitch up and Illya hummed like he was disagreeing. “All the women in all the places are lusting over you. How can you not see that?” she wondered. “They are not even hiding it that well.”

“You are imagining it,” Illya muttered before sipping from the count’s brandy. He didn’t really like it, but it burned in his throat and kept him warm. Or maybe it was Gaby. Both made him warm and his insides burn.

Gaby reached to take the bottle from Illya. “And the baroness von Bothmer there is the worst of them all,” she noted and sipped from the bottle. “She is barely containing herself when you are around. Maybe you should boldly take advantage of that.”

Illya’s lips pressed together. He gazed at the burning yacht in front of them, slowly growing smaller as they drifted farther from it, listened to the waves hitting softly against the lifeboat. “Are you encouraging me to… have sex with some woman involved in this case?” he asked quietly.

“Isn’t that what Solo does?” Gaby asked and lifted her brows even when Illya couldn't see. “You are playing his part.”

“I do not want his part,” Illya reminded her.

Gaby sighed deeply. “Such a shame to waste all that lust,” she said sarcastically. “There will be so many disappointed women.” A tiny grin curled her lips when she tilted her head to look at him. 

He huffed to hide that Gaby’s claims still felt nice even when he knew they weren’t true. He wondered was Gaby counting herself among all the woman she was talking about. That was the only opinion that he cared to know.

Gaby chewed her bottom lip and turned her head away. The burning yacht gleamed from Illya’s eyes and hair and if she kept gazing at him she would be the one barely containing herself instead of the baroness. “I’m a little jealous of all the attention you are getting,” she confessed quietly and was happy that Illya couldn't see her properly. Only half of her face even if he tried.

“I am sure you are the one getting all the attention in the next case,” Illya muttered and moved his hands on Gaby’s arm under the blankets.

Gaby shifted her position and settled more snugly against him now when he was so willing to keep her warm. “Not what I meant,” she whispered when she stopped moving.

Illya glanced at her quickly. His lips parted when he considered what she had said. They had been alone the whole week. Even when there had been crowds of people around them, it had felt like there were only Gaby and him. And out of all the things she had said during the week, this was by far the most interesting one. “It is not me,” Illya reminded quietly. “They notice Herr Weinmann. No one would look at me.”

Gaby twisted herself, turned to face Illya in his arms. “I would,” she said quietly.

For three months now they had been playing around the subject, ever since Rome. Now when they worked together they had made a mutual agreement, without either actually saying it out loud, to keep their distance. But the whole week in Hamburg they had been together, glancing at each other when they were sure the other couldn’t see, playing with fire. There was no harm in looking even if touching would have been unprofessional.

Of course all the looking made it that much harder to stay in line. And now she was in his arms and their heads were tilted toward each other. 

Illya swallowed as unnoticeably as he could. The last three months he had been holding himself back and it was harder and harder with each passing day he saw her. She was so close he could simply lean forward and kiss her.

The yacht collapsed in the middle and Gaby and Illya turned to look at it like everybody else. It cracked in half and the burning parts started to sink. The flames illuminated the sea and them a few more moments more, before Franziska sank in the North sea.

“Liebe Franzi,” Gaby sighed when the count couldn’t say it and she felt like somebody should.

The moon was only a thin crescent and they were left in the dark. Gaby opened the expensive brandy when she felt immediately chilly when the flames disappeared. They had drifted away from the yacht and the fire hadn’t provided any heat, but seeing the glow had made it feel warmer.

Illya sipped after her and held her little tighter against him under the blankets.

When the fire had disappeared the vast sky was full of stars. Gaby tilted her head up and finally set it to rest on Illya’s shoulder. Gaby wasn’t sure had she ever seen that many stars. There was no light to distract the view and the sky was clear of clouds. Illya’s hands smoothed her arms slowly, he turned his head slightly down and their cheeks slid against each other.

“You face is so smooth that I’m not sure is this even you,” Gaby muttered.

Illya straightened his head back up and Gaby tilted her face towards him and they were close again, and what was separating them was mere whispers.

“Even you would prefer Herr Weinmann,” Illya said quietly. “He is rich. He has no… problems. He would dance with you.”

“No,” Gaby sighed. Her hand slowly found its way out from under the blanket. It moved to his cheek and kept his face turned towards her. “I like you. You are… real and complex,” she told him, her fingers caressing his smooth cheek and chin. “And when this is over even your face starts to feel like I have imagined it to feel. I’m looking forward to that.”

There was light next to nothing, but in the glow of the crescent moon and stars, and the reflections on the waves Illya could see her dimples when she smiled at him just before he kissed her. He tasted the count’s expensive liquor in her kiss. It was warm against the cold wind surrounding them. It warmed his insides like the alcohol.

His lips slowly parted from hers, but stayed so close he could feel her breath on them.

“I think this is very unprofessional,” Gaby whispered. “I don’t think Fräulein Müller would be kissing her boss.”

“She is very dedicated employee,” Illya muttered. “She would do what Herr Weinman asks.”

“What would he ask?” Gaby breathed out, waited eagerly for what he would say. Illya kept her waiting and Gaby hummed impatiently. “What would he ask?” she asked again.

“He would…” Illya paused, touched her gently under the blankets and leaned closer so that their lips brushed together, “ask Fräulein Müller to give her best performance in every situation,” he muttered slowly, lips brushing Gaby’s lips.

She captured his lips and gave the best best performance she or Fräulein Müller could give. The darkness cloaked their kiss from everybody else and only the stars could see them. It kept them warm until the coast guard found them.

**Author's Note:**

> oh yes, the prompt was "An undercover mission forces them to get close, both physically and emotionally". I hope you like it :)


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